12. Rune
Chapter Twelve
Rune
L indsey had arranged for a glam squad to pamper the three of us.
I opted to use Raquel's shower to rinse off while Lindsey got glammed up first, since I had been, um…
rather busy last night. And this morning.
I felt Lindsey's eyes on me as the effusive gay man doing my hair chattered on and on in a relentless patter about some ongoing personal drama with his boyfriend.
And while the man's prattle annoyed me, it also provided a nice cover for me not to have to talk about Duncan.
Because I just couldn't handle talking about it. I'd bolted at the first opportunity rather than engage in a rational, adult conversation about our feelings.
Fuck that.
I know damn well that the sex last night was not just world-class fucking, I'll never forget. It altered my emotional chemistry. It shook the axis of my very existence.
Which is exactly why I'm not discussing it.
I'm not in love with Duncan Badd. I can't be.
I met him not two weeks ago. I barely know him.
I haven't met his parents or his siblings—although I have met two of his uncles and one cousin.
My life is in LA and his is here—well, here Alaska, not here Anchorage.
No, the best thing is to pretend it was just the hottest sex any two human beings have ever had, never to be repeated.
Except maybe tonight.
No.
I can't.
If I let myself fuck Duncan again, it'll only screw up my emotions even more. I need to make sure I get nice and drunk and pass out in Lindsey's room.
To that end, the three of us start day drinking with a pitcher of mimosas. Raquel was in hair and makeup, sipping her drink and actually engaging with Robbie's endless nattering, leaving Lindsey and me to finish getting ready.
Lindsey leaned toward me as I sipped my mimosa, doing so delicately in an attempt to smear my lipstick as little as possible. "You fucked him again, didn't you?"
I choked on champagne and OJ, coughing and gasping. "Dammit, Linz!"
She cackled. "You did!"
"So?"
"Was it as good the second time?"
I felt myself flushing like a 13-year-old discussing her first crush. "No." I cleared my throat, dabbed at my lips with a napkin. "It was better."
She boggled at me. "You said the first time, and I quote, 'ruined you', and that it was the best sex of your life."
"Yes. That's still true. And round two was even better. Quite literally, round two was the hottest thing that's ever happened to me."
"What did he do ?" she demanded in a hiss.
"He was awake when I got back from your room. He ordered me to take off the robe, and then made me masturbate while he watched." I was whispering so quietly that Lindsey had to put her ear nearly to my lips.
Lindsey clapped a hand over her mouth. "Holy shit."
"But he wouldn't let me come until I was riding his face. Linz, I'm telling you, I've never come so hard or so many times in my life." I swallowed hard, shaking my head. "It was…epic. That's what it was."
"Which is why you were still asleep when I knocked on your door? And why you didn't answer any of my six texts or three calls?"
I glanced at Raquel—not that I didn't trust her, but my relationship with Lindsey was deeper, and this was very, very personal. "I didn't oversleep. I actually woke up kinda early and spent a good hour freaking out while Duncan slept. And then I, um, I sort of woke him up with a blow job."
"As in, he woke up in your mouth?"
"Uh, no, not exactly. I sort of played with him first."
"So when I knocked?"
"I'd just finished blowing him and he was kissing me."
"You let him kiss you after you blew him?" Obviously, she knew about my hangup and where it came from.
"We talked about that, actually, and…yeah."
She blinked at me. “Rune, that's a big deal."
"No it's not," I lied.
"You're still in denial!" she said, way too loudly.
Raquel glanced at us in the mirror. "You think I don't see you two whispering about Rune's fucked-up situation with Duncan?"
"Uh-oh! Drama!" Robbie sing-songed.
“It's not a fucked-up situation!" I argued.
Raquel and Lindsey shared a look and then burst into identical cackling laughs.
"Oh, sweetie," Lindsey sighed. "You're so far into denial you don't even realize it."
"It's just good sex!" I insisted. “That's all it is! That's all it ever will be!"
"You told me he ruined you." Lindsey arched an eyebrow at me. "I dunno about you, Raquel, but if I had sex with someone and it ruined me, I wouldn't be walking away so easily."
Raquel grinned. "I did have sex with someone who ruined me." She paused for dramatic effect. "I'm marrying him in a couple hours."
"Okay, but can we talk about that, though?" Lindsey said. "What is it about sex with Hamish that's so good?"
Raquel sighed dreamily. "It's the connection. He just…he gets me. It's like he knows my body. It also doesn't hurt that…" she trailed off, glancing at Robbie.
Robbie, prepping her scalp for the custom wig Raquel was going to wear, flipped a hand. "Don't mind me, girlies. Anything you say in here is covered by a doctor-patient confidentiality clause. Or something like that.” He winked at Raquel in the mirror. "So spill it, sister."
Raquel snickered. "Fine. It doesn't hurt that Hamish is hung like a horse.
" She bit her lip, gaze twinkling with amusement and love.
"He knows how to use it, too. But it's not just that.
When I first started hanging out with him, I was sort of…
I didn't expect to feel the way I do about him. He's the first and only white guy I’ve ever dated, and I wasn’t sure what to expect…
in that department. But it turned out it didn't matter.
We took that slow , ya'll. We didn't sleep together for almost three months.
By that point, I didn't care what he was packing, I just wanted him.
" She looked at me in the mirror. "I knew I loved him, even though on paper our relationship made no sense.
We're from two totally different worlds. But he gets me. I dunno how, but he does. He shouldn’t understand me, you know?
He's from a little rural town in Scotland, and I'm from Compton.
But…that shit don't matter— at all . We both worked our asses off to escape where we were from.
His culture may be totally alien to me and vice versa, but who he is?
The man he is? How he treats me? That's what matters.
He doesn't need to know anything about Black American culture to love me.
And I don't need to know anything about Scottish culture to love him.
We love each other—the rest is just details. "
"I love that for you, Raquel," I said.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm saying, Rune, that you and Duncan aren't even that different."
"I know we're not. That's not the problem."
"Then what is?" Raquel asked.
"She's scared," Lindsey said.
"I am not!" I lied.
Lindsey nudged her forehead against my temple.
"Bitch, I love you. But you're a terrible, terrible liar.
You're scared shitless. You know that the chemistry between you and Duncan is way more than just physical, and after everything that happened with Hayes, you're scared. I get it. But Duncan isn't Hayes."
"I know he isn't."
"So? Woman up, bitch!” Lindsey said. "Take a chance on the man."
"I'm not moving to Alaska !" I shouted. "My life is in California!
Everyone I know is there. What do you think is gonna happen?
I'm gonna stay here forever because of some really amazing sex?
That's stupid. It's irresponsible. I can't abandon my entire life because of some boy, no matter how good the dick may be. "
"It's not about the dick, honey," Robbie said. "It's about what the dick does to your heart."
"The dick isn't doing anything to my heart."
Robbie sighed. "It's a lost cause, girls. She's so far up denial you can call her Pharaoh." All three of us stared at him until he scoffed. "Denial? The Nile? Oh come on! That was a good joke!"
Lindsey patted me on the shoulder. "We'll let it go because you're obviously not willing to listen to reason, but mark my words, Rune Rigby—you're making a mistake.
Duncan Badd is more than just a big dick and nice abs.
You have feelings for him and he absolutely, one hundred percent, not a shred of doubt about it has feelings for you.
And yet you're committing to running away from that before you’ve even given it a chance just because of his zip code. "
" Zip code ?” I screeched. “He damn near lives on a different continent!
I am not cut out for Alaskan winters. It's not happening, and I do not have feelings for him. It was the best sex I’ve ever had, yes, but that's all it was.
And Linz, I'm crashing in your room tonight.
I plan on getting wasted so I can't do anything stupid with Duncan before my flight tomorrow.”
Lindsey sighed. "Whatever you need to do, babe. You know I’ve got your back, even if you are being an idiot."
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of preparation, mimosas, brunch with the gang, more mimosas, re-touching makeup, photography behind the venue…
By the time four o'clock rolled around—with the wedding scheduled to start at four-thirty—I was well on my way to tipsy.
Or…y'know, something. Tipsy…drunk, whatever.
I was functional, and happy to be spending quality time with my friends—I'd missed them in the last two months of wandering north from SoCal to the Pacific Northwest. Hayes, in a wild burst of intelligence, avoided me like the plague, opting to stick to hanging out with Ricky and the other guys.
Even when we did toasts with the whole group, he made sure to stay as far away from me as he could get, even going so far as to avert his gaze if I happened to look his way.
Duncan may as well have been adopted by the crew—he seemed to get along with everyone. He shot Hayes dirty looks every chance he got, but otherwise left him alone. He tried to corner me a few times, wanting to talk about last night, but I managed to escape every time.
He was getting frustrated, if not outright pissed off, but I was committed. We had fun, and now the fun was over, as planned: come to the wedding, find a guy to hook up with, make Hayes jealous, go home.
Success on all fronts.
Raquel and Hamish had opted to forgo having a best man and maid of honor, since the wedding was so small and rather informal, which meant Lindsey acted as the flower girl while Raquel's brother Ricky carried the rings and held them through the officiant's opening remarks and the couple's vows.
Sitting front row, I watched Raquel's eyes tear up and her voice choke as she promised to love, honor, and respect Hamish for the rest of their lives, even if she didn't always understand everything he said.
That got some laughs. When Hamish started his vows, he did so in a Scottish accent so incomprehensible it sounded like gibberish…
until people started to frown at each other and wonder out loud if he was speaking English.
Raquel was laughing, her bare shoulders shaking.
He only kept up the bit for a few seconds and then slid into his usual thick-but-understandable accent, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, everyone stood up and cheered as Hamish swept Raquel clean off her feet, held her in his arms as if carrying her across a threshold, and kissed her insensible.
"LET'S GET PISSED!" he shouted, while Raquel gazed up at him blearily, as if wondering how they could manage to sneak away and finish what Hamish’s kiss started.
And, as the party moved indoors for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, Hamish and Raquel did indeed vanish together for a good twenty minutes, and when they reappeared, Raquel was in a short, slinky white cocktail dress and Hamish's tie was gone.
I floated from group to group and table to table for the rest of the evening, picking at small plates of food and avoiding Duncan almost as thoroughly as Hayes was avoiding me.
I really was catching up with my friends, though—two months is a long time to miss out on the comings and goings of people you’ve hung out with almost every day for four years.
By the time the sun had set and dinner was served, I was pretty well drunk.
And that's when speeches happened.
I found myself standing up with a microphone in hand, scanning the crowd—feeling wobbly, unsteady, and emotional.
I locked onto Raquel. "Raquel, Hamish…You guys are couple goals.
Your relationship is an inspiration to all of us.
" I accidentally looked down at Duncan, and his deep brown eyes were carefully blank.
"I love you guys. I hope you have a long, beautiful marriage and lots of adorable babies. Congratulations, you guys."
I sat down, proud of myself for sounding coherent.
"Nice speech," Duncan murmured.
"Thanks." I picked at my food and ignored the heat of his gaze on me.
"Rune."
I ignored him.
"Rune, you're being childish. C'mon. Just talk to me."
I pinned him with a glare. "Duncan, just….stop. I told you. There's nothing to talk about."
"But there is and you know it."
I shook my head, which felt a bit sloshy. "I'm drunk, Duncan."
"Me too. So what?"
I looked at him—for the first time that day, I really looked at him, and I realized he was as blasted as I was. Barely holding it together. His eyes swam with emotions I couldn't bring myself to name. "Duncan, please ." I closed my eyes, tearing my gaze away from his. "I can't ."
"Won't, you mean."
"Sure. That too. Can't and won't."
"Why?"
I shot to my feet, steadied myself with a hand on the chair, and turned away from him. "I need to use the ladies’ room."
I bolted like the coward I was, scurrying across the bustling room—I got stopped four times on the way, managed to get away long enough to pee, and then got swept up in a dance-off drinking game on the dance floor.
I knew I was in bad shape, so I started slamming water between rounds of shots, because I'm a terrible dancer.
I remember seeing Duncan standing on the dance floor, alone, watching me as my friends swirled around me.
He was wearing a tux—which fit him like a glove, and made him look like James Bond.
The bowtie had come untied at some point, and his hair, slicked back and gelled to within an inch of its life during the day, was back to being unruly and shaggy, dangling in his eyes.
He had his hands in his hip pockets and his deep, dark brown eyes were unreadable, inscrutable, fixed on me as the crowd swept around us, swirling like planets orbiting twin suns.
The shots seemed to hit me all at once, then, and that's when my memory goes dark—